


The Alpha, the Omega, and the Beehive

by captainzygomaticum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Underage Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:17:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainzygomaticum/pseuds/captainzygomaticum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was embarrassing really, but Sherlock hadn’t even noticed the man was an alpha. Had he noticed, he would have put the man to the test a bit more." </p><p>Sherlock Holmes is a seventeen-year-old omega from an aristocratic family. His family has presented him with a number of suitors, but so far to no avail. In fact, the encounters usually prove disastrous. Then, quite unexpectedly, his father brings home a man who manages to impress Sherlock before he's even figured he's an alpha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Guest (and erupting scallops)

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine, if you point them out to me, I'd be very grateful ^^

It was embarrassing really, but Sherlock hadn’t even noticed the man was an alpha. Had he noticed, he would have put the man to the test a bit more. Normally, his mother would fret days in advance when she invited an alpha and drop all sorts of not-so-surreptitious hints to Sherlock about how to be on his best behaviour. Father and Mycroft (as well as all the servants) couldn’t see why she bothered, because so far Sherlock had adamantly defended his stance on how refraining from flinging cutlery at the guest of honor was him on his best behaviour. But this time, it had been his father who had spontaneously brought a man over for dinner and Sherlock did what he always did at the dinner table when they had guests over who weren’t there specifically for him: he ignored everybody at the table and played with his food. Not the way five-year-olds play with their food, mind you, instead he added olive oil and food coloring to his water and dissected a couple of haricots. Finally, he observed how water and salt interacted with the scallops he was supposed to eat.

Apparently, his mother had drained them in a marinade with vinegar in it, because it resulted in an eruption on his plate.

It hadn’t been the most scientific of experiments, but eruptions were entertaining and with the added bonus of not actually having to eat the food, Sherlock felt entitled to proclaim the experiment a smashing success. Although he thought it best not to voice that verdict, since Mummy, Father and Mycroft all shot him glaring looks that made it clear they hadn’t been entertained at all.

It was interesting to see how they all immediately took on the roles that had emerged within the dynamics of their family: Mummy scolded him, Father tried to carry on a conversation as if nothing had happened and Mycroft began cleaning the mess that Sherlock had made (that is, he called for one of the servants and removed all potentially dangerous tableware from Sherlock’s vicinity).

It was also interesting to see that the guest, a blond, short-but-sturdy man whose name Sherlock hadn’t bothered to remember, looked amused rather than annoyed. That was a plus for the man.

When Mummy was done scolding Sherlock, she started out on an elaborate apology to their guest, one he cut short by saying: “It’s fine, really! God, the times I’ve driven my mother mad by having food fights at the table with my sister. Although we never managed to cause an explosion, so I’m actually pretty impressed.” With the last sentence, he smiled at Sherlock, who mentally added another bonus point and contemplated on rewarding him by explaining that it had been an eruption, not an explosion.

“Yes, well, uhm...” Mummy seemed unsure of how to respond to the statement, but Mycroft came to her aid smoothly by saying: “Seeing as _most_ of us finished eating,” Sherlock effortlessly picked up the unspoken ‘except for Sherlock, because he blew his food up,’ “I would suggest we retreat for a few minutes and allow the servants to clean up and prepare dessert, if that is alright with everyone?” Mummy had apparently recomposed herself and exclaimed: “Excellent idea, Mycroft dear, and perhaps Sherlock could be kind enough to show Dr. Watson the garden, won’t you sweetheart?”

She turned to their guest, who apparently went by the name of Dr. Watson (Sherlock decided to remember this time) again and said in a now-pleasant manner: “I’m sure you’ll find it very interesting, considering what you’ve just told us about your recent studies about bees.” The man looked surprised: “Oh, you keep bees here, then?” “Well, Sherlock does, so I suppose it’s only appropriate that he will give you a quick tour, don’t you think, Sherlock sweetheart?” The sugary tone made it only more clear that it wasn’t a request on her part, but Sherlock didn’t mind. Apparently, dr. Watson did something with bees in his study, earning him his third plus point, Sherlock thought he wouldn’t find it too tedious to keep a conversation going with this man.

He was mistaken. Sort of. Dr. Watson immediately confessed “My knowledge of bees is still pretty superficial, I’ve only started studying them recently, I’m afraid.” Sherlock thought that was a bit of a letdown, but nonetheless asked: “In what sense do you study them, then?”

“Well, as I was just telling your parents, our work has met severe setbacks and impediments due to the, unfortunately flourishing, cultivation of poppy’s.”

“What do you mean, ‘our work’?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

“You haven’t been listening at all, have you?” said Dr. Watson with a hint of a smile.

“Nope.” Sherlock retorted short and simple. He was never one to attempt making feeble excuses, as they were often easy to see through and, more importantly, because he was not ashamed of his behaviour anyways. But he cast the doctor a scrutinizing look, he could at least attempt to deduce what he had missed out on by ignoring the conversation, could he not?

After years of practice, his mind turned observations into deductions almost instantly (tan lines on his wrists; tan lines from dogtags, army then. Talk of poppy’s; connection with the army, had to be Afghanistan. Cane, wounded in action perhaps. Bloodshot eyes, trouble sleeping, combined with the previous deductions this information made PTSD a very likely suspect.) and with the lightning speed of his mind, it meant he could start talking virtually immediately and at top speed as well:

“You were in Afghanistan, with the army. An army doctor, in fact. But now you’re back in England, walking with a cane. You’ve been injured then, although judging from your puffy, bloodshot eyes you rarely get a good night’s sleep, combined with your history PTSD would be likely and it’s entirely possible that your injury is psychosomatic. At any rate, now you’re here, studying bees, what’s that about?”

The man’s jaw dropped increasingly with every deduction Sherlock produced. After a few silent seconds he seemed to escape from the trance, and said: “Are you sure you weren’t listening?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and drew in a sharp, furious breath. Honestly, the next person who accused him of cheating or tricking would find his unfortunate head stuck in the beehive with the most aggressive inhabitants he could raise.

But then he suddenly found Dr. Watson’s hand - very warm and steady hand, he noted irrelevantly - patting his shoulder and the soft voice was as soothing as the words he said:. “Hey, I was only joking. I know it’s not a ruse or anything. Your family, especially your mother, told me how clever you are.”

Quietly, Sherlock let out the breath he had been saving for a vitriolic hiss and found himself lost for words. The last time that had happened was… well, he couldn’t recall, but it probably stemmed from the inverbal stage in his development. He looked into Dr. Watson’s kind brown eyes and decided that this unique ability justified a fourth plus point for the man. He might very well be one of the most interesting people he’d ever met. Intruiging, almost.

But he didn’t let any of the inner turmoil show, or at least so he hoped, and responded with a coolly tone: “Alright then, I suppose we had best kept walking, or we’ll never make it to the bees.” Immediately he set off on a brisk pace, but slowed down when he remembered the man’s shorter limbs and the cane. He allowed for Dr. Watson to catch up with him before asking: “So, what was it that you did with those bees in Afghanistan?”

Dr. Watson explained about the project with honey bees he had been exploring. “Hopefully, it will serve as an alternative to the business of opium. Truth be told, the truly problematic taliban are more druglords than religious fanatics.”

Sherlock found the idea quite appealing as a subject for his studies and before he even realized the words had left his mouth, he had already offered John to help with his research.

“Really? You would do that? I mean, that would be great!” The friendly face lit up with an expression of honest enthusiasm and when Dr. Watson added “Thank you, I’m really grateful!”, Sherlock had to resist the ridiculous impulse to reply “Me too.” Instead, he just nodded curtly and quickly began walking back towards the house to hide his confusion, not regarding the doctor’s handicap this time. Also, even if he wasn’t a big fan of eating, desserts were always well spent on Sherlock. The sooner they got there, the lesser the chance Mycroft wouldhave snaffled the biggest part for himself.  

* * *

 The dessert passed by in placidity, Sherlock sat in silence and the others at the table were making polite conversation. He felt odd, which he didn’t like, and he couldn’t figure out precisely why he was feeling odd, which was even more unpleasant. It most certainly had something to do with that Dr. Watson, it seemed Sherlock liked the man. He hadn’t ever enjoyed, much less sought out other people’s company. Now he had done both these things with Dr. Watson in less than five minutes. If only he could figure out why. One thing he noticed was that Dr. Watson actually seemed to like him, which was a most unexpected and new-fledged sensation. Was it possible that he, Sherlock the Arctic Island, in reality craved social contact as much as the next man, but had unconsciously been put off by other people’s obvious dislike? It was an embarrassing thought and Sherlock immediately drove it from his mind.

At that point, everyone had finished their desserts and Father tried to persuade their guest to have a cup of coffee to conclude dinner. “No, I’m really sorry,” Dr. Watson said with an apologetic smile on his face, “but my sister is expecting me at home soon, so…” “Ah, it’s a shame, but family comes first,” Father answered and Mummy joined in: “Indeed, but you’ve been an absolutely lovely guest and we would be very pleased to have you over again, sometime!”

Mummy escorted Dr. Watson into the hall, as Sherlock ventured past them in an attempt to quickly get up the stairs. Only just then the man pointed at the colorful, abstract objects that were set out on tables across the hall and asked: “I was wondering, what are those? I’ve been meaning to ask since I came in, but…” “Oh!” Mummy squealed in delight, grabbing Sherlock by his arm and pulling him next to her. “Sherlock made those, the results of his ridiculous experiments can really be rather splendid at times, don’t you think?” she asked eagerly. Sherlock flushed, feeling agitated about both the deprecatory and complimenting nature of his mother’s remarks at the same time. Dr. Watson nodded “They are absolutely stunning, especially these, what are they, pyramids?” he asked, pointing at a series of metal objects that indeed resembled a pyramid-shape. “They’re crystals grown from bismuth metal and they’re not supposed to look like anything, they were just an experiment.” Sherlock said shortly. But honestly, could nothing foil this man? Because he just gave his small-but-genuine smile and replied: “Well, I still think they are very beautiful.” And there must have been something in those kind, warm eyes and the look he gave Sherlock, that made the boy blurt out: “You can have one, if you want.”

At first, Sherlock is a bit surprised by the look on the man’s face. He’s accustomed with the concept of modesty and how it is appropriate when one is offered a gift, but the expression of pure _shock_ seems uncalled for, Sherlock thinks. Then Dr. Watson looks at Mummy, the look of shock now replaced with one of uncertainty. Sherlock looks at Mummy too, sees her smiling and nodding at Dr. Watson, approving of something? He looks back at Dr. Watson, who is now beaming at him as he carefully picks up one of the smaller bismuth crystals, carefully pocketing it. “Th-thank you very much, Sherlock. For the crystal, uhm, and the bees and… I- I suppose… we’ll see eachother soon, then.” Dr. Watson finished weakly.

Sherlock was extremely confused. He has obviously missed something - then it hits him. A delicious, musky scent is wafting through the hall. And suddenly the realizations gather in his mind quickly, albeit scandalously late.

Dr. Watson is an alpha.

Sherlock has just initiated courting by presenting the alpha with a gift.

The alpha has accepted the gift.

Oh God.


	2. Chapter 2: A Date (penguins included)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta'd by saraatje (thank you very much my love!), all remaining mistakes are mine, I'd be happy to correct any mistakes if you spot them ^^

“No!”

 

“But Sherlock sweetheart, you’ve done absolutely fantastic!”

 

“No!”

 

After his bismuth-crystal errancy, Sherlock stood frozen for a few moments. Then he ran upstairs, completely panicked. He bolted his door shut and all who tried to speak to him were treated to the same surly “No!”

 

First Mummy tried, sweet and understanding.

 

Then Father came, trying the strict approach (“Get out of your room right now!”) and failing miserably (“No!) because no level of sternness could ever match Sherlock’s level of stubbornness.

 

Finally, Mycroft tried talking to Sherlock and  Sherlock stopped talking altogether out of sheer resentment. While he was perfectly willing to admit he hadn’t been paying sufficient attention, he remained convinced that it was Mycroft’s abrasive alpha-smell that was primarily to blame for him missing Dr. Watson’s alpha gender.

 

All in all, he felt completely overwhelmed by the sudden spin of events.

 

***

 

John's state of mind didn’t differ much from Sherlock's. At first, he had felt tremendously excited. That particular sensation was probably caused by the alpha-pheromone induced sense of pride about managing to draw the attention of a very attractive omega.

 

As soon as he came home, however, that haze was starting to fade, leaving him with nothing but panic. For goodness sake, Sherlock must be nearly two bloody decades younger than him. How old was he again? Eighteen? God _please_ let him be at least eighteen, John thought desperately.

 

Still, even if he is eighteen, John considered, he himself was a crippled, thirty-seven-year-old wreck living in a damned bedsit. Hardly a catch, especially for such a beautiful and undeniably brilliant omega who belonged to what John suspected to be one of the wealthiest families in the country.

 

There were plenty more depressing thoughts more where that came from, but John managed to shove them aside for the time being. After all, Sherlock had made the first move. It also helped that Mrs. Holmes had seemed to be more than approving of John accepting Sherlock’s initiative.

  


Furthermore, it simply wasn’t in John’s nature to give up on the things he felt were important. He had been on plenty of dates with omega’s and even a few beta women, but never had he felt so much in the right place as during his short walk through the garden with Sherlock. John Watson would be damned if he wouldn’t even try to explore this further.

 

Still, the prospect of entering this courtship by the rules of the Holmeses was daunting to say the least. Letting the omega initiate courting was an old-fashioned custom, and these days it was more common for alpha’s to make the first move. John was glad to have picked up on Sherlock’s gesture, but had no idea how to proceed from here.

 

Research. He had to do research.

 

And so John grabbed his laptop, spending a large portion of the night trying to find guidance in a web of increasingly contradictory and illogical advice on a large variety of ancient and downright idiotic customs.

 

***

 

Sherlock didn’t emerge from his room until two days later, very early in the morning. Contrary to what his family thought, he hadn’t been sulking. Well, he had been for the first twenty-four hours, but once the feelings of panic and helplessness subsided, he began to think. He’d come to some sort of a conclusion.

 

He loved blaming Mycroft, but that didn’t entirely explain how he had missed John’s secondary gender. It also didn’t explain why he hadn’t been annoyed by the man’s company  in the garden. Necessary additional data would be provided by a date. The fact that he didn’t dislike the man, helped too. Mummy would be so happy.

 

“I’m willing to go on a date with Dr. Watson,” Sherlock therefore announced with appropriate self-complacency when he encountered Mummy in the dining room where she was finishing breakfast.

 

“Good,” Mummy answered promptly, “because you’ll be going today.”

 

“Wha-what? I beg your pardon?” Sherlock spluttered.

 

“Oh please, you heard me perfectly, young man. I’ve been in touch with Dr. Watson and arranged for your rendezvous to take place today.”

 

“I hadn’t even given you my permission!”

 

“Don’t be silly Sherlock, you just did, seconds ago!”

 

Vexed by her indisputable statement, Sherlock kept his mouth shut. Any form of litigation now would be useless as well as childish. Sherlock Holmes was many things, childish wasn’t one of them.

 

Not even five minutes later when his mother tried to dress him and Sherlock refused to go out without his favourite trousers.

 

***

 

It indeed took John two more days until he called. After a night of research, he spent the first day convincing himself that he should do this and that it was a great opportunity relationship-wise. The second day was spent fretting over what sort of date he was supposed to organize. As far as the internet was concerned, alpha’s were supposed to take their omega of interest to a dinner, with absolutely no side activities allowed, which he knew he could do, because this described pretty much every first date he’d ever had.

 

However, John was convinced Sherlock would be greatly bored by a dinner and that a bored Sherlock was nothing less than a safety hazard.

 

Sherlock's previous suitors hadn’t been discussed in great depth, but he had been informed by Sherlock’s father that one alpha had been taken away by ambulance because Sherlock had managed - they had never figured out how - to shoot a spoon up the nose of the ill-fated man. Sherlock later justified himself by saying the alpha had been dull.  Seeing as the boy was also skilled at blowing up food, John could only conclude that dinner was a no-go for their first date. Still, he was apprehensive to deviate from norms that were so novel to him.

 

In the end he decided to call Mrs. Holmes, because so far she had seemed nothing but approving of John courting her younger son. It took him an hour to get a phone number and when he could finally call, he had to get past about four different servants. Eventually, he got Mrs. Holmes on the line and proposed that he’d take Sherlock to the zoo.

 

“Oh, that is an excellent idea, Dr. Watson! He would most certainly love that”

 

“Well, that’s settled then,” John said, rather pleased with himself.

 

“Oh, there is one little thing.” Mrs. Holmes said in a somewhat timid voice. “It’s probably best if you didn’t go to the London Zoo. Sherlock’s not exactly, well, _persona grata_ there, if you know what I mean.”

 

John didn’t know, but he could imagine what she meant. The boy had probably tried to take a saliva sample from a tiger, or wanted to take a closer look at the fauna culture found in the skin of a sloth. Chuckling at picturing these events, he said “I understand, Mrs. Holmes, we’ll go to the Whipsnade Zoo then.”

 

***

 

And so, in preparation of his date, Sherlock was getting dressed. Bizarrely enough, his missing trousers had been handed to them by a suspiciously sheepish looking Mycroft. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but decided to store this information for later. He had more pressing matters to occupy him at the moment, specifically getting himself into the extraordinarily tight-fitting purple shirt Mummy had given him.

 

Once he’d slithered into it and closed all the buttons, Mummy gave a somewhat worrying look. “Mycroft!” she called, “Could you come take a look at this shirt, please? I’m a bit concerned about how it emphasizes his broad shoulders. It might put off Dr. Watson.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh please, as if Mycroft could give me fashion advice.”

 

“No, but he can offer us the alpha point-of-view, which is very useful, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock huffed.

 

Mycroft already poked his nose around the door, glanced at the shirt and said: “For most alpha’s, yes, it would be a bit too intimidating. However, based on Dr. Watson’s behaviour during dinner, I strongly suspect he’s too confident for such nonsense. After all, he watched Sherlock causing mayhem on his plate, was content being ignored by Sherlock and I very much doubt Sherlock’s been perfectly polite during their little walk to the beehives. Yet our dear doctor is still prepared to take Sherlock out on a date. I very much doubt you have anything to fear from a purple shirt.”

 

***

 

It wasn’t until he was dropped off by the Bentley at the front of the gates that Sherlock realized they weren’t going to have dinner at all, but that Dr. Watson would take him to the zoo, which actually made him quite excited. Sherlock loved zoos and though he wondered if Mummy or Mycroft had lend Dr. Watson a helping hand in coming up with the idea, he felt rather confident he would enjoy this date, if not for the company then definitely for the surroundings.

 

It didn’t take him long to spot Dr. Watson, who was standing at the entrance fumbling two tickets in his hand. Sherlock found him oddly appealing, already from a distance he could spot that the man had shaved, and had gone through the trouble of ironing his shirt as well as his jeans. Obviously something he couldn’t be bothered to do normally, for it had been done somewhat clumsily.

 

He quickly walked up to him and felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach, which grew only worse when John’s smile brightened visibly when he saw the boy approaching.

 

“Hi,” Sherlock mumbled.

 

“Hullo Sherlock!” John said, obviously nervous, but with a steady voice nonetheless. “Eh, thank you again, I’m really glad you could come today.”

 

“It’s okay, thank you too, for - well, for not taking me to dinner, Dr. Watson” Sherlock responded, seeing as this was the most sincere gratitude he had to offer.

 

“Yeah, I thought you might like this better.” the doctor grinned. “Shall we get inside then?”

 

Together, they walked towards the entrance. Sherlock could smell fresh, spruce-scented shampoo on the man, so he’d showered this morning. He liked the smell, nice and earthy.

 

Also, to Sherlock’s utter delight, Mycroft had been completely wrong. John Watson was in fact very intimidated by Sherlock's purple shirt.The man kept eyeing the shirt, especially around Sherlock's chest and shoulders. Flushed red when he realized he’d been caught staring. Interesting, not as blunt as your average alpha, quite shy in fact.

 

***

 

Once they were inside, Dr. Watson walked up to a map of the zoo. Sherlock followed him and started looking at the map as well, memorizing the entire thing in the process. He decided he wanted to see the bears first. “So...” Dr. Watson started.

 

“Bears.”

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“Bears. You were going to ask what I wanted to see first. The answer is bears.”

 

The man smiled and said: “I know you're a genius and all, but that's actually not what I was going to ask you.”

 

“Oh.” That didn't happen often. “Then what?”

 

“Well, when I phoned your mother to ask her if I could take you to the zoo...”

 

It _had_ apparently been the man's own idea. Another point to Dr. Watson then. Really, the man was on fire.

 

“She sort of warned me that I shouldn't take you to the London Zoo. Mind telling me what that's about?”

 

Sherlock sighed inwardly. They would never let him forget The Zoo Incident, it seemed.

 

“Mummy’s blabbed, hasn’t she?” he therefore said, rolling his eyes. “Well, when I was twelve, I went to that Zoo with the entire school, but it was a far from enjoyable trip. The teachers were very inconsiderate, because they wouldn’t let me look at the animals for more than five minutes each. It was a rather warm day, too, so I slipped away and went to look at the penguins. Now, I was quite a bit  younger than I was now so I may have done something that might not seem entirely logical, but…”

 

He shot John Watson a stern look that made it very clear the doctor would be killed in a very slow and painful manner if he dared to laugh. The doctor put on his best straight face.

 

“At any rate, it was a warm day and I really liked penguins, so I figured I’d go for a swim with them.”

 

“No, you didn’t…”

 

“Of course I did! How else was I supposed to cool off? Only it wasn’t as refreshing as I’d imagined, because the water was _very_ smelly, so I didn’t mind when the zookeepers pulled me out, even if they were somewhat uncouth.”

 

“They got you out then?”

 

“In a matter of minutes.”

 

“They expelled you from the zoo for that?” the older man asked slightly incredulously. It seemed more of a frolic prank than a semi-criminal offense. But off course there was more to the story.

 

“Not for _that_ , no,” the boy said with a mischievous grin on his face. “They just called for one of the teachers, wrapped me in a towel and let her escort me to the exit. It all would’ve been fine, if that stupid animal hadn’t pecked a hole in my backpack.”

 

“Oh God, you…” a grin was appearing on the doctor’s face.

 

“I liked penguins!”

 

“You managed to put a penguin in your backpack?” Dr. Watson said, struggling not to laugh.

 

“Nearly managed to smuggle it out, too.” Sherlock said, clearly annoyed his plan had been thwarted at the time.

 

John decided to keep a very close eye on Sherlock should they walk past the penguin enclosure. He didn’t think it would be below the boy to take revenge and make it a success this time. Apparently Sherlock could tell his intentions, because he huffed and said: “Not to worry doctor, there are no penguins at this particular zoo.”

  


John felt relieved, until the boy continued: “However, they _do_ have tarantula’s. Mycroft’s terrified of spiders.” He trotted away happily, leaving John to follow, who was feeling no longer reassured. “Come on, Dr. Watson, mustn’t keep the bears waiting!” John started walking. If he were to survive this day, he’d treat himself to something. He really deserved that.

 

***

 

As it turned out, keeping Sherlock satisfied wasn’t as arduous a task as John had anticipated. He proved to be quite content suffice he could observe his animals of interest as long as he liked. Also he would ask for an ice cream about every thirty minutes, but John was only too happy to oblige to these requests. First of all because he thought Sherlock was behaving splendidly and ought to be rewarded for that. Yet he also noticed that he had very little internal struggle attending to the whims of a boy who had barely transcended puberty. John strongly suspected his alpha instinct was to blame.

 

As the day advanced, John sort of enjoyed himself. He could tell that Sherlock was having fun (by scraping samples from rocks at various enclosures and observing animals completely still and in complete silence for over an hour) and he loved looking at the boy as he sat serenely, watching the animals. However, he didn’t feel entirely at ease.

 

Without the company of anyone else, the silence was very notable. Weren’t dates supposed to get to learn things about each other? Was Sherlock even interested in him? John had been quite certain that day at the Holmes’ residence, but that feeling had faded and this date wasn’t entirely reassuring either.

 

“It may not seem that way, doctor, but you’re doing immensely well compared to any of the other alpha’s I’ve met.” Sherlock suddenly proclaimed, completely out of the blue.

 

“Eh, sorry?” John asked.

 

“I can tell you’re worried. You’re frowning, you bite your lip increasingly. You have probably been on loads of dates and this is likely very different from any date you’ve ever had, so you’re worried whether this is going well.”

 

“Yeah, well, you are being very quiet.”

 

“I’m sorry doctor, but I can assure you that is no reason to worry. You’re quite...different.”

 

“Different, how?”

 

“Do you know why I’ve sent all of my previous suitors away scurrying?”

 

“Well, eh, I suppose you didn’t like them?”

 

“They’re all so stereotypically _alpha_ , I abhor it. Also, they wouldn’t suit me very well, seeing as I’m not exactly your average omega.”

 

“Amen to that,” mumbled John.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, sorry, carry on.”

 

“You’re different. You’re modest, you’re not trying to assert your dominance over me, even your alpha smell is more subtle than that of most others.”

 

“Ah, well, that’s good, right?”

 

For the first time that day - and while John didn’t know it, it was in fact the first time in months - Sherlock smiled at John. Immediately, the doctor felt his heart leap. He smiled back, tentatively, but the boy had already turned around, somewhat embarrassed by his sudden openness. “Come on then, off we go, there are sea lions waiting for us.”

 

John went along, determined to not be a stereotypical alpha around Sherlock, if that’s what it took to keep the boy happy.

 

***

 

John’s plan of not being stereotypically alpha was crossed virtually as soon as it emerged. It really was the worst timing ever. Sherlock was just hanging over the rail at the sea lion enclosure, completely fascinated with the mould that crept up on the rocks, when a bunch of young alpha males walked past.

  


“Oi, nice arse!”

 

“Looks like you need a pounding, pretty boy!”

 

“Want me to take you home and fill it up for ya?”

 

John shot them warning looks, but said nothing, thinking of what Sherlock had just told him. He wanted nothing more than to let them know this omega was taken, was _his_. Oh god, this pheromone thing was really getting out of hand. Still, he managed to keep his mouth shut, because he suspected it would be one of those ‘stereotypically alpha’ things Sherlock abhorred.

 

Also, if Sherlock'd just kept looking at the rocks, perhaps in a bit less flaunting pose, John was pretty sure they'd just move on. But honestly, how much of an idiot can a genius be? Very much, apparently, because Sherlock started walking away.

 

If you want the full attention of an alpha, walking away is a surefire way of getting it. Damn it.

 

Indeed, two alpha's tailed Sherlock, keeping up their slurs of abuse. Sherlock just kept walking. John followed and would've told them off, if one of the alpha's hadn't put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

 

John's vision immediately went red.

 

With a roar, he flung towards the offender. It was a healthy alpha in his early twenties, but no match for a trained soldier and doctor who knew where all the pain points of the human body were. A short wrestle followed and in ten seconds, John had the alpha on the ground, arms firmly twisted behind his back.

 

“You sure you wanna lay one of your filthy paws on _my_ omega?” John growled furiously into the man's ears as he pressed harder, making bones crack ominously.

 

A squeal.

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“No!” the man yelled, in a surprisingly highly pitched voice.

 

“Next time you think about touching, remember how lucky you are that I'm not breaking both of your arms right fucking now.”

 

Later, when all this was over, John would inwardly cringe about this testosterone-fueled alpha talk. For now, it got the message across.

 

John got up, so tried the other alpha, stumbling. John reached for the man's jacket, hoisted him up and gave him a good push in the other direction. Then he turned around to see what had happened to Sherlock and the other alpha.

 

The second alpha was lying on the ground, seemingly unconscious, as the ultimate proof that Sherlock was more than capable of a healthy dose of self-defence.

 

However, to John’s horror, Sherlock himself had vanished completely.

 

Fantastic.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about the penguin story (which was supposed to be published along with this chapter, sorry about that): I was told by a friend that this had actually happened somewhere, but then I found multiple sources on the internet, some giving conflicting descriptions, some stating it's an urban legend. I've no idea whether it actually happened, but I figured it would be an appropriate prank for a young Sherlock (which is why it's in this story, although it's a bit OOC, because if Sherlock had actually wanted to take a penguin home, I'm sure he'd have succeeded. Sorry about that too).


End file.
